Whatever happened last night, Mister Gold?
by shermitkermit
Summary: The sack felt rough, it was worn as if it had been used a lot, and recently by the feel of it. There was a funny smell coming from it too. Gold couldn't quite put his finger on it, it was unlike any smell he was familiar with. This was not the smell of roast dinners or strawberry shampoo. This was the smell of a mad man.


Left.  
Right.  
Left.  
Right.  
The man slumped against the wall listened as the footsteps got nearer. Undoubtedly the footsteps of someone who was going to, or at least try to get the truth out of him. The truth about what really happened last night. This of course was something he could not provide. Not only had he been sworn to secrecy by the mysteriously agile woman dressed in black, sworn to not breathe a word about what happened in Vine Street last night, but even if he wanted to, he would not be able to recount the events of last night. You see, the night started off, as most eventful nights begin, in a club. He couldn't remember the name of it, some seedy place along one of the back streets in the city. Men falling over themselves to get a seat nearest to the most racily dressed piece in the room, drinks being drank, downed and thrown. Not the kind of place you would take a girl, not one you were serious about anyway.  
Long story short after a couple of beers he could feel his head going, he could barely formulate a sentence let alone take in enough information to be able to relive it the next day.  
Left.  
Right.  
They were loud now. The footsteps were right outside. The handle clicked and the door opened slowly.  
"Aha," a rather small man dressed in a light brown suit and tie strolled in casually, taking care as he shut the door behind him. Without speaking another word he picked up a chair from the corner of the room and brought it over to where the man sat slumped on the floor. Sitting down on it he checked something on a piece of paper before folding it and slipping it into his briefcase. He lingered for a moment before placing the case on the floor and turning back to face his patient.  
"Hello." He did not smile. "My name is Doctor Crane, I assume you know why you are here but I am going to remind you nevertheless. Last night you were seen socializing with a known criminal, one of Gotham city's most wanted in fact. Is there anything you would like to tell me about how this came to be?" His eyes bore into the man's soul, making him want to tell him, making him ache to tell him the truth. But it was no use. The night was completely frazzled in his mind. He said nothing. The man on the chair sighed and looked down for a moment before casting his eyes back up.  
"Let's start with something a little easier shall we. How about a name. What is your name sir?" He spoke in a dull, monotone like voice which somehow made the word 'sir' sound even more patronizing than it had intended to be.  
The man played him at his own game and waited for a few moments before slowly opening his mouth in response.  
"Gold."  
"Well Mister Gold is there anyone who might be missing you tonight? Anyone at home who might be sat, kettle boiled, food on the table, waiting for daddy to come home?" His facial expression had not changed, but something in his voice had. Before he had just sounded bored. Now there wa frustration, anger. Almost as if he was speaking through gritted teeth.  
He knows about Amy.  
Gold's eyes widened as the cruel reality began to sink in. Of course this man knew who he was, he was just playing around. He knew him alright. Knew his name, knew where he lived, knew his wife would be making the dinner whilst his two girls finished their homework and watched Barney. He probably had the house surrounded, an army of creeps ready to bust in and take his family at any moment. He knew he had to play along, give some sort of information even if it wasn't true. He racked his brain for something that sounded believable.  
"I was in a club," he mumbled.  
"Go on."  
"I was in a club and she was there. She was dancing and she kept on looking at me. As if she knew me."  
"You'd met her before?"  
"No never. She nodded at me to follow her into one of the back rooms and I did. She started talking to me about all this business with a burglary or some sort of crime and I'd just sat there, dazzled that this woman was giving me the time of day... It turns out she had thought... she had thought I was someone else. Once she found out she was angry, more at herself than me for giving away her master plan to an old man. I told her I wouldn't speak a word but it was no use, she said she couldn't let me go and risk spilling about what she was doing. So she took me with her, I waited outside the whole time I swear."  
"And then, she let you go?"  
"She let me go."  
"Just like that?"  
Gold nodded. She swore me to secrecy and said I was free to go. I ran, I ran outta there like hell. I got home, made myself a sandwich and went to bed. Next day I wake up with a banging headache, put my shirt on and head off to work. Next thing I know I'm being dragged out of the office in front of all my colleagues God knows what they must have thought. I'm thrown in the back of a van and flung in this here cell. All for a harmless boys night out."  
"Now if it were harmless, Mister Gold, why would you be here?"  
Gold was surprised by his own ability to make up events on the spot. His story was so good he had even began questioning whether that was actually what happened.  
"Thank you for your co-operation, Mister Gold. You've been very helpful." He stood up and replaced the chair in its former position before he had entered the room.  
"Wait a... wait a minute aren't ya gonna let me go? I've done nothing wrong I don't understand."  
Crane slowly crossed the room, stopping to pick up his case. As he picked it up it fell open, causing its contents to spill across the floor. Numerous papers and stationary lay scattered across the floor. Crane crouched down and hurriedly gathered his belongings before flinging them back into the case and heading for the door.  
"I'll be in touch," was the last thing he said before leaving and closing the door behind him.  
Slouching back against the wall and rearranging his legs he felt his foot kick against something. Sitting up straight he reached to pick it up. It appeared to be a piece of cloth, or material. Pulling it in close to him so he could get a closer look it revealed itself to be a burlap sack. Like those they put over prisoners' heads in those films Gold watched on a Sunday when Amy and the kids were at church.

The sack felt rough, it was worn as if it had been used a lot, and recently by the feel of it. There was a funny smell coming from it too. Gold couldn't quite put his finger on it, it was unlike any smell he was familiar with. This was not the smell of roast dinners or strawberry shampoo. This was the smell of a mad man.


End file.
